


"Would you just hold still?"

by sshysmm



Category: Lymond Chronicles - Dorothy Dunnett
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Female Friendship, Ficlet, Gen, Makeover, Post-Book 6: Checkmate (Lymond Chronicles), Prompt Fill, Tumblr Prompt, the band Au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:28:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22990228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sshysmm/pseuds/sshysmm
Summary: Philippa and Joleta are going for a night on the town together - Joleta just thinks Philippa's hair needs some work first. A prequel toWhat I love about many waters.Originally posted on tumblr.
Relationships: Joleta Reid Malett & Philippa Somerville
Kudos: 2
Collections: Lymond fics set in the Band/'80s AU





	"Would you just hold still?"

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Erinaceina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erinaceina/gifts).



“Would you just hold still?”

Joleta brandished the curling iron in a way that made Philippa’s hands clench in her lap – but otherwise, she did not move. She looked at herself in the mirror and wondered how long Joleta’s patience with her hair would endure. Thick, black eye make-up emphasised the roundness of her brown eyes, and Philippa studied the dark outline of her lips, wondering whether they really were always that shape, or if the lipstick was exaggerating their curves and round swell.

Philippa had arrived at Joleta’s thinking they would go straight on to the cocktail bar, but after one look at Philippa’s stubborn, glossy locks and minimal make-up, Joleta had simply dragged her into her little flat. Now, tea in hand, face feeling stiff and hot with layers of foundation and blusher, Philippa had to wait until Joleta deemed her hair bouffant enough for the high standards of Edinburgh’s doormen.

“Hm,” Joleta scowled. She grabbed another handful of thick brown hair and pulled it taut before coiling it around the iron again.

Philippa gritted her teeth and leaned away as Joleta exerted expert, practiced pressure.

“You know, you have got lovely hair, Pippa,” she mused.

Philippa’s brushed black brows furrowed. “Do I? Then why –“

“It’s a tragedy it’s just not in fashion. You were meant for the seventies, like all folkies,” Joleta sighed. She released the ribbon of Philippa’s hair and smiled at the way it swirled and bounced. “Gotcha!”

She might have mentioned that she hadn’t recorded a folk song since 1986; she might have objected that she didn’t give a hoot about the fashions of the seventies or of any other decade; but it was easier to let Joleta work out her energy on Philippa’s hair. The warmth of the curlers, the firmness of Joleta’s grip and the plastic smell of make-up made Philippa think of their rooms in St Mary’s and of all the nights shared together that year. If it relaxed Joleta to manhandle Philippa’s hair – well, it relaxed Philippa to know that Joleta was relaxed. That much hadn’t changed.


End file.
